


Learning Curve

by noah_pascal



Category: Everyman HYBRID
Genre: Anxiety, Drug Use, Gen, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 07:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13852710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noah_pascal/pseuds/noah_pascal
Summary: Hearing her voice again makes you feel like you slammed into a wall.





	Learning Curve

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in February 2011 for the hybridfiction lj, but this never got finished, and it never got posted. Here it is finished, mostly unchanged from how it was, seven years later. Come watch me project some old unhealthy coping strategies and mental illness on characters in a second person present tense ramble from five perspectives centered around “December & early January.”
> 
> If there's anything too weird in here, you'll have to take it up with 2011 me.

You just wish this would end.

You're not really sure what Jeff, Vince, and Evan have started, but people have fucking died because of this bullshit.

All you want is your brother back the way he was. And to feel safe in your house again. And for nothing to happen to your dog.

Sharing a bed, sleeping on the floor, squeezing around one to three extra people in the kitchen, it's all getting old. You can’t even believe your parents don’t care.

You’re going to hide this term’s report card. You never even got a chance to try for good grades, and you’re blaming it all on Jeff when they ask.

But until then, fuck it, just go play 360 with the guys and Steph and forget about this for a while. Everything’s holding together for now.

You'll go upstairs later to grab Jeff’s bed before anyone else can and use your time alone to think about what you'll do when this is all over.

 

You wonder if this is what the end feels like. Because the only thing that’s been holding you together is holding everyone else together. Well, that, and Excedrin, and Xanax you begged from Jeff with the promise that you would definitely go see your doctor since it’s _that_ bad.

But in the doctor’s office, you’re freaking out because you never did think of a lie good enough to get what you want. Are you lying? You certainly can't tell the _whole_ truth, not if you aren't looking for a twenty day time-and-space-defying inpatient stay.

Whatever jumbled story you tell is enough to cover the symptoms without giving up the cause because you leave the office with prescriptions and a follow-up appointment in a month, but without the usual guilt from lying.

You’re very good about taking your SSRI. So what if you’re not taking your other prescription exactly the way it was prescribed? It’s nice to not worry about the stuff no one else worries about: trees, garbage bags, beaches, Morse fucking code.

It’s a bad day, and it's a get-together day, too, so you eat a light lunch, take a few more than prescribed, skip dinner entirely, and you’re feeling on top of the world. Your relaxed mood fits in fine with everyone else's surprisingly good mood tonight, so when Steph leaves the room after Jeff goes to turn the TV off, you and Evan bust out the camera ‘cause it’s prank time.

Thank god you took too many tonight because it’s the only thing keeping you in your chair, the only thing keeping you from yelling, from vomiting, screaming, or outright sobbing, but not from altogether crying, because you can feel the tears welling up as you press your hand to your mouth, just in case something does slip out.

You wonder now, in this moment of whipping around to see Jeff standing there, having heard everything, if _this_ is what the end feels like.

 

You know this is what the end feels like because where can this go from here?

You spend all day at work wishing your uncles hadn’t taken your father’s guns. You do know where guns are in Evan’s house though, and you “console” yourself with this knowledge during work and the drive home, but as soon as you close the front door, you hear Alex in the kitchen and know that consolation is worthless because you have a baby brother to protect. There is so much anger in you so suddenly that when you turn back from the noise in the kitchen and see the cross hanging there, you tear it off one wall and throw it against another.

Alex hears and comes wide-eyed out of the kitchen (probably expecting to see chains piled at the bottom of the stairs), and the anger drains out of you as quickly as it came because now your brother isn’t some abstraction to plan around—he’s your _brother_ , he’s real, and he’s standing in front of you ready to lecture you on Mom's behalf.

You give him a hug and weak assurances of “I’m all right (for) now,” and hang the cross up again, heading to say hi to Steph before checking the chains and getting some sleep before the guys show up, so you can run to Wawa and play some 360 and maybe not act like a “sad panda” the whole time.

When you’re all winding down for the night, the anger you lost earlier comes roaring back after those two dumbasses start screwing around with Steph’s phone. Vinny means to hold you in comfort, but it only feels like restraint when all you want is to drag her upstairs, unchain Alex’s door, and shove her in.

You can't believe you thought not knowing was worse. It's ridiculous compared to this abrupt finality.

 

You’re not sure where your story ended, and someone else’s began, but if you had to guess, it probably happened somewhere between the whispers and the black outs, between the dreams and the time you woke up with a new laptop.

You’re worried because you teach self-defense and MMA. You haven’t come to standing over some poor student and blood spilled over the school’s mats, and you don’t know if it’s only a matter of time before you do.

You’re worried because you slip in and out of reality sometimes. One second, you’re brushing your teeth, but in the next, the mouthwash bottle turns into a rabbit's scruff, and the toothbrush is your knife, and then you’re back again.

You’re worried because you’re losing large tracks of time. It’s starting to piss your family off, but at least your friends understand. It’s frustrating (terrifying) for you when you forget (weren't there for) all your conversations and promises.

You’re worried because you know how clever he is, how subtle he is, how much like you he is.

The gmail is flooded everyday, and you stand behind Jeff as he goes through the messages. You were pretty fucking pissed when they started calling you “erratic” and “unstable” and wondering when you were going to start _stabbing_ everyone, so you act really annoyed and start calling them trolls every time it’s brought up, unsure if your anger will mask your distress.

You just try to spend as much time with as many people as possible, hoping that if you start acting funny, they can do something. Maybe if you’re around enough people, he won’t come out. So you have plenty of “slumber parties” in your basement and spend a lot of nights at the guys’ houses.

It is one of those nights. It'll be time to lay down soon, but you’re hopped up on energy soda, acting like a fool with Vinny, both of you trying to make the other laugh, and not thinking one damn thing through. Those dippy smiles on your faces are gone when Jessa speaks.

You think maybe those whispers _are_ influencing you because there’s no way six months ago you could have kept that camera up while that recording played, but that’s not important. Jeff’s behind Vince, and you can’t tell if he’s going catatonic or berserk.

You’ll worry about _your_ mess of a life tomorrow. You just hope you remember to.

 

You know this doesn’t have an end. From first hand experience, if you think it’s over, it’s only getting worse.

Dreams, deaths, fires, floods, vlogs, and no end of running. It will never stop. The lulls are over almost as soon as they begin.

You will always have this pounding heart, the urge to bolt, and the terror that you press down and breathe through. The smell of gore will be in your nose forever. It’s enough to drive a girl crazy.

You share it with a song which can convey that to the curious without revealing too much. You draw a picture; it’s like giving them a peek through a window with broken blinds. Let out a little, just to relieve the pressure.

You’re not even going to do that anymore because you found people who already know. What purpose would a blog serve now?

Considering endings and beginnings makes your head swirl anyway because linear time isn’t even a given anymore.

Fuck it, you’re going to the basement and passing out on Jeff’s sofa. The only end you'll have tonight is the end of the evening.


End file.
